


The Art of Being a Pick-Pocket, Or Something Like That

by SweetAsCyanide



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alice in Wonderland References, And references to the Matrix, Clint Barton centric, Crime AU, Deaf Clint Barton, Drinking, It mostly takes place in a bar, M/M, Mentions of most of the other avengers, Mentions of past child abuse, Or a coffee shop, Pretty much everyone is some kind of criminal, Swearing, Though it's mostly just petty or white collar crimes, Various comic book references, don't let the tags fool you, just lots of references, this is mostly fluffy I swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-14 01:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7992871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetAsCyanide/pseuds/SweetAsCyanide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint can pick anyone’s pocket without them ever noticing until he’s long gone--at least that’s what he tells Kate, his young protege. It’s something he learned in his misbegotten youth as a carnie. So, as is their usual custom, one night Kate picks out a random guy (aka Bucky) for Clint to steal from but things don’t exactly go as planned. In fact, it’s the first time since he was a kid that he’s been caught. Determined to prove himself (and not get caught this time) he keeps on trying to steal Bucky’s wallet. Too bad things never seem to go quite according to plan, but all's well that ends well, right?</p>
<p>“So, this looks bad. But I swear I wasn’t trying to steal from you, you just have a great ass” Clint says and immediately starts mentally kicking his own ass. Now, not only has he come off as an inept thief but he’s also that creepy guy that feels random attractive strangers up at bars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Dip and Grab Method

**Author's Note:**

> This monstrosity of a thing started out being much smaller--and shorter, but I fell in love with the idea of this sort of marvel criminal world I was building and it just took on a life of it's own. This fic is unbeta'd so if you see any glaring errors (or even tiny ones) it's entirely my fault and you should let me know so I can get them fixed. Huge thanks to my wonderful artist Tara, who I know had a lot going on in her life but still managed to make some amazing art for this fic!
> 
>  
> 
> [ My (SweetAsCyanide) tumblr](http://cyanidemuse.tumblr.com/)  
> 

“So who’s the victim of the night?” Clint asks Kate, his blue eyes tracing the room. The two of them sit in a functional enough booth in the far back corner of the bar and case the place out. While this booth may be one of the worst in the joint for service it’s got the advantage of being even more dimly lit than the rest of the bar while still giving them the best surveying opportunity. It’s a decent enough place, walls so dark a red they look black, lights dimly lit to make it have an intimate vibe--and disguise any lack of upkeep on management's part--the furniture’s all smoothed out wood and solid metal, and the drinks are sufficient, even if the place only serves their own house microbrews for the beer drinkers. It’s called the Hellfire Club, he doesn’t know who came up with that one. They’ve frequented it a few times, enough to know that the customers are generally the types that won’t miss a bit of cash. It’s sort of one of his rules. He doesn’t like taking from people that probably need the cash more than him. Kate’s taken to calling him Robin Hood because of it. Well because of that and the whole having archery as a hobby thing. 

“That one.” Kate says with a decisive flick of her black hair. Subtle as a tiger in a pen of penguins, she points out a guy leaning against the bar. Clint’s really got to start teaching her how to be slightly less obvious. 

“Seriously?” Clint asks. Of course that’s who she’d pick. Not that he’s really surprised, Kate’s been progressively upping her game at finding more challenging targets. So why wouldn’t she pick the guy who's probably the toughest mark. He tells her as much, “Everyone in this damn bar and you have to pick the one who most looks like he could kick my ass?” He’d noticed the guy standing at the bar pretty much as soon as they walked in. The guy stood out. Not because of being grotesque or ridiculously attractive--though Clint would definitely rank him as a solid 7 and he hadn’t even seen his face yet. Nah, he stood out because he had this vibe of being so tightly coiled it’s a wonder he could still breathe while at the same time he had the most relaxed posture of anyone at the bar. There was just something a bit off about him, and it wasn’t just the slightly greasy brown hair and sleek black leather jacket.

“Well that shouldn’t be a problem for you. I mean you never get caught right?” Asks Kate. There’s a blatant smirk on her face echoed further by her raised eyebrow. He’s gotta stop letting her run around with America Chavez and her crew so much, it’s turning his sweet little protege into a smart ass. Or even more of one at any rate. 

“Right.” Clint deadpans. He takes a swig of his beer, makes a face and scoots his way out of the booth. Before entering into the masses of the savage land laid out before them he turns to Kate and gives her his best smile and ‘here goes nothing’ shrug. Then he’s off and weaving his way towards tonight's lucky target. Clint’s not aiming for fancy tonight, he figures just a simple dip and grab and he’ll be on his way. After all there’s nothing wrong with resorting to the classics once in awhile, right?

Clint leans casually on the bar, just to the left of but without being right next to his target and waves down the bartender--Cherry? He thinks her name is--for another beer. Wouldn’t due to be too obvious. Plus this way he can get a peek at the front of his mark. And what a front it is. Even with the hair that could use a wash and the stubble that appears to be at least a couple of days old the guy looks like he could be a model for GQ or something. Forget about being a solid 7 the guy’s at least a 9, even with the slightly terrifying vibes that Clint’s getting, or perhaps because of them. Clint’s never been known to make the wisest decisions, especially when it comes to the people he’d love to have racking up frequent flyer miles in his bed. Not that he was going to try and screw his mark. He’d pretty sure that would almost make him a prostitute. Or something like that. It probably wouldn’t count as payment for his sexual services if he was the one stealing his money. Would it? Either way it didn’t matter, Cherry(?) was back with his beer and it was time to strike. 

On the brightside the guy’s wallet was in his left back pocket so Clint could simply pick up his beer with his right hand and swipe the guy's wallet with his left as he turned and walked past. Easy peasy lemon squeezy. Of course that would’ve been the case, but the guy swivels around and catches him just as Clint slips the tips of his fingers into his pocket. Shit. And now the insanely attractive bar guy is giving him a death look, and not like a nice “I’m only kind of glaring at you” but like “I’m glaring with such force that shards of the the glacial abyss are now piercing into what little of your black soul still exists”. Isn’t that just peachy?

“So, this looks bad. But I swear I wasn’t trying to steal from you, you just have a great ass” Clint says and immediately starts mentally kicking his own ass. Now, not only has he come off as an inept thief but he’s also that creepy guy that feels random attractive strangers up at bars.

“Right. Think you could remove your fingers from the pocket of the pants that are housing this great ass any time soon?” Asks the guy. He looks a little less pissed now. Or maybe not. Clint’s not really sure, the guy seems to be hiding behind a mask of ice. Of course it’s not like Clint would be thrilled with someone trying to sneak into his pants either. Or rather trying to sneak his wallet out of his pants and then groping him? Yeah, there just wasn’t any good way of putting that.

“What?” Clint asks. He’s gaping a little like a dumbfounded goldfish. Glub. Glub. Then his brain catches up enough for him to continue on with, “I-uh. Yeah. Definitely.” Hot bar guy is even hotter when he looks moderately pissed off. Especially the burning brilliance of his eyes, they were like boiling coffee with a little whiskey mixed in. Or you know brown. He really shouldn’t be waxing poetic right now. 

“Ahem.” The guy clears his throat and shoots him a pointed look. Right. He still hasn’t removed his hand from this guy’s ass. He should probably get on that. Any second now. 

“Oh! Uh, shit. Sorry? I’ll just be going now.” Says Clint as he deftly extricates his hand from hot bar guy’s back pocket. He may or may not have gotten a little squeeze in on his hands way out. If he wasn’t going to get the guy's wallet the least he could get was a little grope in. The guy already has to think Clint is some sort of pervert so may as well go with it. On the positive side the guy hasn’t kicked his ass yet either. 

“You do that.” Says the guy. Though he looks substantially less angry and a bit more amused now. So that’s good at least. 

“Right. Going. Now.” Clint replies and then proceeds to stand there gaping like a brain dead goldfish for a little longer. Hot bar guy smirks and gives gives him a wave and Clint almost thinks hot bar guy is checking him out, with the head to toe sweep of his eyes, but he’s probably just imagining that. Giving the guy a last sheepish grin he scratches the back of his neck and then turns around and beelines his way back to Kate. He’s really not looking forward to her gloating. At all. 

“Well that looked embarrassing.” Kate says as soon as Clint slides his way back into the booth. She’s got a grin lighting up her eyes and she swirls around a vibrant purple umbrella in her drink that looks just a bit like toxic sludge. He’s not really sure where she acquired the umbrella from, this place certainly didn’t carry them.

“Mhm.” Hums Clint. Maybe she’ll drop it? Yeah right. Maybe the sky will fall and the mole people with reign supreme. All hail our gracious overlords, the mole people.

“What happened to being the best pickpocket to have ever lived? What happened to all those ex-carnie skills of yours?” Asks Kate. She’s having way too much fun with this. Waaay too much. That never bodes well for him. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He says. He really doesn’t. It’s the first time since he was a scrawny carnie kid that he’s been caught. It’s something he prided himself on, and of course his pain in the ass protege had to be there to see his long winning streak come to an end and on her pick of the night at that.

“How about charades, you could act it out for me?” She asks and makes strange whooshing motions with her hands. He’s not sure if she’s practicing her plane landing skills or trying to somehow mime pickpocketing a person.

“Nope.” Clint says adding a little pop to the p and taking a sip of his beer. 

“So you’re really just leaving it at that?” Questions Kate. Concern is marring her features now. It’s a bit of an odd look on her. Though concern for him tends to be a fairly frequent occurrence. He’s not sure why.

“What the hell am I supposed to do? I just got caught reaching into a guy's back pocket for his wallet and then proceeded to tell him that ‘oh no I wasn’t stealing from you your ass just has a magnetic force field that pulled my hand right to it’.” He spews forth. It’s a lot more than he ever intended on saying but he’s frustrated. Now that he’s out of hot bar guy’s immediate orbit he’s a lot more disappointed in himself. How the hell could he just break his streak of success like that?

“Oh my god, did you actually say that?” Kate asks, her eyes comically wide and an excited smile slowly sweeping across her face. 

“Not exactly, but close enough.” Replies Clint. He buries his head in his hands to avoid looking at Kate in all her glee at his own gloom. She takes far too much enjoyment from his distress. For all that people talk of misery enjoying company he could due with a little less company right now. 

“Wait till I tell Natasha about this.” Squeals Kate, bouncing up and down in her seat like an overly excitable chihuahua that just ate a chicken. 

“Uh-uh. No way. There will be no mentioning of this incident to Nat. Not if you don’t want me to tell Miss Chavez about that time on the subway.” He says and he means it too. The last thing he needs is Nat finding out about this and lording it over his head. Bad enough that he knows he’ll be hearing about it from Kate from now until the end of days. If he has to threaten Kate with telling her crush about her own embarrassing forays into thievery then he is not above that. In fact it would probably be rather fun. 

“You aren’t any fun.” Pouts Kate. She crosses her arms over her chest and gives him a glare. Her glare has got nothing on hot bar guys though. Not a damn thing. 

“Oh no, I’m not fun--whatever shall I do with my life now. Drink copious amounts of coffee? Languish in despair? Let Lucky eat all of the pizza?” Clint says while throwing his hand up to his head as dramatically as he can manage like some woe begotten ingenue. He already drank more coffee than was healthy for an entire cop shop, let alone for little ole him. And he did have his days of languishing. And anymore he was fortunate to get even a couple of slices in before Lucky was darting in and giving him those sad puppy eyes--or eye in his case--which inevitably led to the dog finishing the rest off.

“Nah, you’ll just try and pickpocket people and end up playing grab ass instead.” Says Kate. Her grin is now firmly back in place. Damn her. 

“Gee thanks.” Says Clint. 

“It’s what I’m here for.” Kate replies with a solemn nodding of her head. Yeah, she was definitely spending way too much time with America Chavez and the rest of the YA. 

“Uhuh, Think it’s about time for us to blow this joint. You’ve gotten your entertainment for the night and I failed at pick pocketing for the first time since I was a kid.” Clint says as he finishes off his beer. He’s still rather frustrated with himself for that. Pick pocketing has always kind of been his thing. His brother, Barney, was good at the schemes, he could talk a person into anything, but him? All Clint ever has had going for him was his deft fingers.

“But you got to feel up an attractive guy, that counts for something right? And don’t even tell me you didn’t find him hot because bar guy is totally your type.” Kate says it matter of factly. Not that she’s wrong, hell that was probably part of her reason for picking hot bar guy--to see if his mark being attractive would throw him off. Normally it wouldn’t have. Maybe he was getting too lax, his past few marks had been rather easy. The fun and charm of pick pocketing a difficult mark had worn off, he was becoming too jaded. Or something.

“I will neither confirm or deny that. But really, since tonight was a bust I should probably get back and feed Lucky.” Clint replies. He’d fed Lucky before going out but Kate doesn’t know that and it works as a good excuse to let him go back to his apartment and languish in despair at tonight's failure for a bit. 

“Sure, I’m meeting up with the Young Avengers tomorrow morning anyway.” Says Kate with a shrug. She grabs her drink to down what little is left of it.

“Right. Tell your terrifying lady love I say hi and to quit stealing pizza from Tony’s.” Clint says as he scoots out of the booth. Kate doesn’t have the monopoly on being a smartass in their dynamic duo. 

“America is not my lady love.” Kate promptly says, after spitting out half her drink and spraying him with it. Teasing Kate about her crush was totally worth being covered in weirdly fruity smelling toxic sludge. It had the added benefit that she was now hustling out of the booth to make her escape.

“How did you know that’s who I was referring to? Maybe I was talking about Cassie? Or Leah?” Asks Clint a smirk now etched on his face. Oh how he loved it when the tables were turned.

“Goodnight.” Sputters Kate as she rushes past him and weaves her way through the bar’s other patrons to the exit. 

“Night.” Clint calls after her. Well at least one thing turned out alright for him. On his way out Clint casts a glance back to the back were hot bar guy had been earlier, but he’s apparently long gone. That’s probably for the better, after all what was he going to do try and gain back some of his pride and dignity from pick-pocketing hot bar guy again? Yeah, right.


	2. The Bump and Grab Method

“Please tell me you aren’t still moping about the other night?” Kate asks as she slides into the wooden booth. Once again they are back at the Hellfire Club, where his streak went to shit, and once again they’re sitting at the dimly lit booth in the far back corner.

“Okay, I’m not still moping about the other night. The one where my record was crushed by some hot guy at the bar.” States Clint. He doesn’t even persuade himself with that. 

“Right.” Says Kate as she gives him a look. It’s almost on par with the look Nat gives him when she knows he’s full of shit but Kate hasn’t had the years of exposure to him to perfect it the way she has. Clearly he didn’t convince her either. 

“And I don’t mope.” Clint says as he takes a sip of his beer. He still isn’t sure how he feels about this places micro brew, but maybe that’s just because he’s a cheap ass and tends to go for bottles of rum that taste like paint thinner when he drinks at home. It’s a quantity over quality thing, and as long as it gets him drunk he can endure the taste. Hell he’s even grown to like it. It pairs well with burnt coffee.

“What do you call it then? Sulking?” Kate asks. If he isn’t moping he sure as hell ain’t sulking. He’s just a tiny bit peeved, as much at himself as he is at hot bar guy. He’ll get over it. Eventually. He just needs a bit of time and to steal from a few more people, maybe he’ll even cave and go in with Nat on one of her grifter jobs. Generally he finds them stifling but they do usually pay pretty damn well.

“Fuck off.” Replies Clint, there isn’t even much venom in his voice. It’s more of a token protest than anything.

“No, that’s not it either. Maybe brooding?” Questions Kate. She’s got this faux thoughtful expression painted on her face. Clint’s not sure if it’s just his influence or that of America and her little crew as well but Kate’s come a long way from being the girl he first met. The one who was acting out for just a glimmer of her Daddy’s attention. If it weren’t the fact that she was being so damn annoying he’d almost say he was proud.

“Fuck. Off.” Clint says exaggerating his enunciation of each word. He’s not about to admit that her antics are working, he isn’t in such a shitty mood as when he first got the bar. 

“Oh! How about lamenting?” Kate asks. There’s a smile on her face and her eyes are alight, she knows she’s got him. And she isn’t wrong. Clint can’t help but crack a smile at her.

“What are you a thesaurus?” Retorts Clint. There’s still a smile on his face as he shakes his head at her. Though he shouldn’t be surprised, the kids had good schooling. Her father may have ignored her but at least he tried to make sure that she could make something of herself, though Clint doubted her father meant for her to fall in with him and take up a life of crime. Still she could’ve turned out far worse. Fuck, he could only imagine if she had fallen in with the Skrulls, that definitely wouldn’t have gone down well. For anyone.

“You know I was about to say how surprised I am you even know what a thesaurus even is but then I remembered you aren’t half as stupid as you pretend to be. Which I still don’t get.” Kate states. And here Clint was thinking that the night was just starting to look up. This was not the road he wasn’t to go meandering down tonight. Or ever, if he could help it. It was like on those old maps, ‘here there be monsters’. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but if I did I’d tell you it’s a great way to not have to disappoint people or let them down because they’ve already got such low expectations of you. But really, I haven’t the slightest clue what you’re on about.” He says. There, that was was adequately vague while still giving away far more of himself that he was comfortable with. Case closed. If only.

“Uhuh. So who was it that messed you up? You already know about my Daddy issues so spill.” Kate says as she leans closer to him from across the table. He may know about her daddy issues but that doesn’t mean he wants to share his. Any of his. Of which he could probably write an entire novel about, starting of course with his own asshat of a father who used to beat him and and his brother, Barney, to bloody pulps while his mother just looked the other way. The bastard didn’t only take his childhood from him but his hearing as well. That isn’t even the worst of it. Nah, he actually cried and felt bad with his parents died. Or maybe he just felt bad about not feeling bad about it. Hell, he’d even thought of cutting the breaks himself a time or two--not that he ever followed through on it. From there he and Barney went to an orphanage and then ended up living out that age old childhood dream of running away and join the circus. Which led the both of them into a life of crime and other shitty father figures. But he wasn’t about to throw his baggage onto Kate. Not when she was just now starting to learn how to carry her own.

“Not tonight, young padawan.” He finally replies.

“You know I’ll get it out of you eventually.” She states. It’s matter of fact, the way she says it, but Clint knows she’s right. He’ll have a bad night, or she will, and eventually it’ll all come tumbling out. Or maybe it’ll come out in small wisps, just bits and pieces here and there as she unconsciously rends them out of him. But not here. Not now. God he’s becoming a melancholic bastard. 

“Maybe, but that sure as hell won’t be tonight.” Says Clint and then he’s waving a serving gal over. She bounces over and takes their orders with a wink and a smile, another beer for Clint and something disgustingly fruity and sweet for Kate. As she wanders off to get their drinks they fall into silence. The sort that just is. It’s not so uncomfortable that either of them feel the need to fill it but not so comfortable that either of them feel the need to let it drag on. When he first lost his hearing the silence really bothered him. As a kid, not long after his father beat his hearing out of him, Barney would wander up and hold him. It give him the illusion of safety but it didn’t make it any less terrifying. Then he got his hearing aids and that’s when he realized just how nice the quiet could sometimes be. Until his protege decides to break it anyway. 

“Fine. So what are we doing back here already?” Asks Kate. At least she gracefully let the topic of his issues drop, though he’s pretty sure she’s already pieced together some of it from snippets of conversations he’s had with Nat, Steve, Tony, and Bruce while she’s been there. 

“Just felt like it.” Clint drawls.

“So you want another shot at hot bar guy then, to like, defend your honor or something, right?” Questions Kate. Sometimes she really is too smart for her own good. While he wasn’t banking on the guy showing up again, he didn’t even know if the guy frequented this bar or if it was just a one time stop, he was maybe hoping, just the tiniest bit, that he’d show. And not because he longed to stare into his eyes and wax poetic or see what was hiding underneath that leather jacket. Nope. He just wanted another shot at getting into his tight black jeans. For the express purpose of wallet snatching and nothing else. 

“Nope.” He says, loudly popping the p. Clint smiles at the serving girl as she makes her way back to their booth. She plops Kate’s fruity monstrosity down in front of her and then turns to him. She may or may not flutter her lashes and give him a sultry smile as she sets his own drink gently down in front of him. “Maybe I just like the beer here.” Clint says with a conspiratorial wink to their server. The serving gal may or may not have a bit of extra sway to her step as she leaves their table. 

“Uhuh, since when are you a connoisseur of microbrew?” Kate asks. 

“Since now.” Clint says as his eyes meander their way back to Kate.

“Right.” She deadpans and he’s on the receiving end of another look. Isn’t he lucky? Well, he is pretty sure he could manage to get the serving girl’s number so the night wouldn’t be a total waste. Though then he’d probably have to give up this place as one of his hunting grounds and he’s not sure that he’d want to risk that. They have decent clientele. The sort who have money to burn and are generally totally oblivious to him and Kate. He’s even managed to lift some rather impressive watches and cufflinks here before. As lovely as she might be, some quality time with their server just isn’t worth the risk. Of course she’d probably realize what a mess he is and dump his ass within the first hour of their first date anyway. Definitely better to just keep the hunting grounds. 

“You have got to be shitting me.” Says Kate. Her eyes are wide and disbelieving as she stares at something over by the bar. It’s like she’s seen a ghost. Or something resembling one at any rate. 

“What?” He asks her. Clint has refused to look yet out of principle. Mostly because it’s one of those things. Where people are like ‘look over there’ and then you look and they just say ‘made you look’. He prefers to avoid those kinds of occasions, especially when Kate’s involved. 

“Looks like you really will get your shot at pick-pocket redemption.” She replies. It’s the slightly cryptic answer that finally gets him to look. Kate’s response already had him assuming as much, but sure enough hot bar guy is back. He’s leaning against the bar not far off from where he had been the other night. Hot bar guy looks a little different tonight though, his hair looks all fluffy and soft--it’s been washed--and his don’t fuck with me vibe is all but gone. He also isn’t alone. Hot bar guy is with another handsome guy who looks suspiciously like Steve. But it can’t be Steve. Steve is supposedly working on some hot shit forgery right now. A Monet or Matisse or something. Also Steve doesn’t really have friends besides him and Nat and Tony and Bruce and maybe Sam and Thor. So it isn’t Steve, hot bar guy just has a friend that happens to look like him. That’s all. No big deal. No reason why he shouldn’t give reclaiming his pride and dignity back. He’ll just go in for a quick bump and grab. 

“Looks like I will.” Says Clint.

“Wait. You’re really gonna go for it?” Kate asks him. She genuinely looks surprised, which surprises him. It wasn’t like she was unaware of the fact that they were hitting up this particular bar just for this particular reason.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Counters Clint. Doing slightly stupid shit for slightly stupid reasons is a part of his MO. It’s right up there with stealing from the rich to give to the poor. Which mostly equalled himself and Lucky but he did help out Simone and her kids from time to time too. 

“Isn’t that Steve he’s here with?” Kate very purposively asks him. She lazily swirls around her drink with her hand before taking a small sip and making a disgusted face. Looks like their lovely serving lady brought her something not quite up to par. Not that it stops Kate from taking another sip. 

“Steve doesn’t know people besides us, you know that.” He points out. Sure Steve is a personable enough guy and he is definitely the most honorable white collar criminal Clint’s had the pleasure of meeting but he isn’t the sort to really socialize beyond their tight knit group. He may have welcomed Sam and Thor--the newest additions to their ragtag band--however, he was still a bit more reserved around them. In short, even if that guy did happen to resemble Steve, it couldn’t possibly be him. 

“So Steve has a doppelganger running around chatting up hot bar guys who think that you are either the most inept thief ever or like playing grab ass with strangers?” Asks Kate. And he is getting yet another look, this particular look is of the ‘are you really being that stupid or are you just shitting me’ variety. 

“Yes…?” Replies Clint. It comes out as more of a question than a statement. Damn inflection.

“Right. You should definitely tell him that, right after you go and make a miserable attempt at regaining your dignity.” Kate tells him. 

“Watch and be amazed.” He replies as he takes another drink of his beer and then pushes himself out of the booth. The time has some for him to make his move.

“More like watch and be amused.” She mutters as she takes another sip of her fruity monstrosity. 

Clint opts to ignore Kate and begins advancing towards his mark. He takes on the air of someone that's had too much to drink already, a sort of stumbling and bumbling stroll. It’ll make his job easier and it has the bonus advantage of making him blend in more with the rest of the bar’s patrons. Just ahead of him he can see hot bar guy laughing at something the Steve-a-like has said. He pauses for just a second and steels himself before bumping ever so gracefully into hot bar guy. Utilizing that momentary distraction he reaches into hot bar guy's pocket, only to have a vice grip clamp down on his arm. Shit. Shit. Time to abort then. No awkward standing around and hot ass commentary this go round. Clint tugs his arm out of hot bar guys hold--and holy shit does the guy have some strength--and flees, though not before hearing something that has him freaking out just the tiniest bit more.

“Clint?” Asks the Steve-a-like. Shit. Fuck. Double fuck. He hears the Steve-a-like say something about Clint looking like a friend of his and Clint is booking it back to the both with his new found knowledge that the Steve-a-like is almost positively Steve. As if it things needed to get and worse. Pizza night next week might get awkward. 

“So?” Kate asks as he approaches their booth. She’s got a grin a mile wide on her face as she twirls her hair around her fingers. Great.

“So, it is go time.” Clint tells her. He chugs the rest of his beer so fast he doesn’t even taste it. He needs to leave. Before Steve gets any kind of confirmation that it really is him. 

“Now?” Asks Kate. She looks a little dumbfounded. It’s not a bad look on her.

“Right the fuck now.” He states as he grabs a hold of her wrist and tugs her out of the booth. Then they are off. He’s in too much of a rush to just leave the joint to care about blending in too much. They’re standing on the sidewalk before he slows down and let’s go of her. When he glances over Clint can see a vicious smile illuminating Kate's entire face. He’s in for it now but he’d rather deal with some ribbing from Kate than telling Steve that he’d tried and failed to steal his friend/acquaintance/person’s wallet. Not to mention the nice ass and groping bit. Yeah, that was something he would avoid as long as possible. Just find him some sand and call him an ostrich. 

“That was totally Steve and not his freaky doppelganger wasn’t it?” Kate asks even though she clearly already knows the answer. 

“Maybe.” He replies and tucks his hands into his pockets. They both may know the truth but he isn’t about to fess up.

“Thought so. Night Clint.” Says Kate. She throws him a smile and miraculously hails a cab. She has a weird knack for getting cabs to come to her beck and call. It’s something he’s only occasionally a bit jealous of. Of course, she’s also got her father’s money to pay for them. 

“Night Katie-Kate.” Clint says and then wanders down the street back toward his apartment complex. That’s the other appeal of the Hellfire Club, it’s conveniently located not too far from his apartment complex. Time to go and drown his woes with paint thinner rum laced coffee and maybe watch the new episode of Dog Cops with Lucky to escape all thoughts of Steve, the hot bar guy, and his still broken pick-pocketing track record.


	3. The "Oops, I'm Such a Klutz" Method

Clint, maybe, is just the littlest bit in love with this coffee. A few months ago this trio of siblings moved into his building, Lorna, Wanda, and Pietro. They’re perhaps a bit unorthodox but he’s always been a sucker for helping out those in need so when they asked him for some assistance in setting up their dream little coffee shop he wasn’t going to say no--especially since it meant he got free coffee for life and damn did Wanda make good coffee. So he became their benefactor. Or investor. Or something like that. 

Today was his do nothing day. No pick-pocketing. No other odd jobs. No teaching Kate. No bizarre acting lessons with Nat. It was a day with no expectations or obligations, a day to simply be. Thus why he was at House of M, why the trio had picked that as a name for a coffee shop he had yet to suss out, but the coffee was good--and free--so who was he to question it. He also got his own table. His name wasn’t written on it, not that he’d put that past Pietro, but it was an unspoken law that he always sat at the same table. One in the corner that let him see the shop and all it’s various patrons. He might not be a sniper anymore but some habits die hard and he’s always been a fan of having the best sight lines possible. It makes people watching all the more fun. Well until certain coffee shop owners decide to walk over to him and block his view.

“Hard at work are we?” Asks Lorna as she smirks down at him. 

“You know it.” Clint says. Not that he ever does any of his real ‘work’ here, Lorna would kill him. Despite her vibrant green hair--he’s still not sure how she manages to keep it perpetually such a bright green--she is all business and more than just a little ruthless. It’s part of what he likes about her. She’s like a much less sneaky version of Nat. 

“Sure, sure. I brought you more coffee to enjoy while you size up the rest of our patrons.” She says, handing him a coffee and taking a seat across from him.

“Err…” Clint starts. Lorna may have many strong points but her coffee making skills leave alot to be desired. She makes shitty hotel coffee seem good which is why Wanda is the leading force behind the coffee. Lorna takes care of all of the business aspects and makes sure they keep on running. Pietro does… something. Clint isn’t really sure what exactly. 

“Don’t worry, Wanda made it not me.” Lorna states. She’s got a grin on her face that says she knows exactly what he was trying not to say. It’s not his fault he’s got an expressive face.

“Why would I be worried about that?” He asks. They both know why but he isn’t about to utter a word of it outloud. Or to her face. He’s rather fond of the current placement of his body parts, thank you.

“Because, and I quote, my coffee tastes like the impregnable sludge from the backside of a baboon trying to dance the polka, while my sisters tastes like the divine nectar of the gods.” She says, air quotes and all. Clint is about seventy seven percent sure he’s never said that. Okay, maybe sixty percent sure. Or an even forty. He positively doesn’t remember the baboon ass part. Though the nectar of the gods bit he has undoubtedly said before. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Says Clint.

“Right. Well some of us have actual work to do so I’ll leave you to your daydreaming.” Replies Lorna pushing herself out of her chair and back onto her feet. She straightens out her black pencil skirt as she stands. Of course that’s when he spots him walking in. Hair a bit disheveled, eyes a bit bleary, and black jeans and leather jacket present and accounted for. It’s none other than hot bar guy, what are the odds? Though if hot bar guy is a creature of habit--which pretty much all people are--then he’s probably been to House of M before. Which means Lorna is bound to know something about him, she knows something about everything and everyone.

“Lorna, wait a sec.” Says Clint, catching a hold of her attention before she can leave.

“What?” She asks. Shooting him an incredulous look she sits back down.

“Who is that guy that just walked in?” He asks as nonchalantly as he can, which means not at all, and nods towards hot bar guy who has now taken his place in line.

“Why?” Questions Lorna as she throws a glance in the direction of his nod. Clint can tell when she spots him, her head tilting inquisitively to the side. Quickly her attention shifts back to him. She’s looking a bit suspicious now and isn’t that just great. Clint’s mentally smacking himself in the head. 

“Just curious.” He states. Even he doesn’t believe himself.

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this, I am not letting you steal from people in the coffee shop. We need their money more than you do.” Says Lorna, getting ready to go into lecture mode. She’s already got her index finger primed for wagging and pointed at him.

“It’s not that.” Clint says and earns himself a look from Lorna. There’s a long and abounding pause before Clint finally breaks and clarifies, “Not entirely that.” 

“Oh… it’s hot bar guy isn’t it?” She asks and it’s like a light bulb has lit up. A very very blindingly bright neon green LED light bulb.

“What?” Asks Clint. He tries to put as much ‘I have no idea what you are talking about you crazy person you’ in his voice as he can. He figures he mostly succeeds, as Kate had pointed out the other night he has become quite proficient at playing dumb.

“You know, the guy that has you all woebegotten.” She says proceeding to then wave her arms about in emphasis. Maybe both she and Kate should consider signaling down planes as a new career choice. How flailing arms equalled ‘woebegotten’ Clint isn’t sure. Then again he didn’t think anyone used the term ‘woebegotten’ in conversation anymore. Maybe Lorna had taken up watching historical programming again. At least it isn’t as odd as when she went through her sci-fi phase and everything was ‘frak this’, beam me up, and FTL drives. 

“I am not woebegotten.” States Clin and is most assuredly not pouting. He needs better friends. Better friends who won’t squeal on him to his other friends. He was damn near positive that he knew where Lorna had acquired her data from this time. In an effort to confirm his suspicion he asks, “Kate told you didn’t she?”

“A lady never reveals her sources.” Replies Lorna, a smirk creeping it’s way across her face. Which meant that yes, it was absolutely Kate. Damn her. He really did need to lessen the time she spent with America and the rest of the Young Avengers, they were a terrible influence on her young and easily swayed mind. 

“Well, will a lady at least tell me what she knows about the guy that ruined my pickpocketing record?” Asks Clint. If he has to endure the embarrassment he’d at least like to get some information out of it. After all fair’s fair, right?

“Sure, I don’t know much though. He’s been by a a lot in the past couple of weeks. Always orders the Russian Roulette. Usually he just gets his coffee and goes on his way but there have been a few times when he’s sat down to read.” She states. The way she relays information and the way she always absorbs facts and figures always makes him think she has to do some side work in information brokering. Or used to work for the NSA. Or something like that. Lorna taps her chin and momentarily looks up for a moment before continuing on, “He met up here with Steve once, seemed like they were old friends which was a little strange--I didn’t know Steve had old friends.” Looks like he wasn’t the only one surprised by that. Of course it would’ve been nicer to know that before he’d tried to take the guy’s wallet. Now he was honor bound to keep trying until he achieved it. Lorna finishes by saying, “Other than that he swapped some war stories with Alex but that’s about it.” Alex is Lorna’s on again off again boyfriend. Though they’re been more on than off for a long time. Clint isn’t really sure what the guy’s story is beyond the fact that he served in the military for a time, is weirdly nice, and that his brother can be a massively annoying prick. 

“War vet then?” Clint asks. It would explain the vibe the guy had been giving off at the Hellfire Club. Normally, he’d be opposed to stealing from a vet, he knew far too many--himself included--that were down on their luck, but this wasn’t about the money anymore. It was a matter of principle. A matter of principle who had at last made his way to the counter and was ordering his coffee from Pietro. Pietro promptly calls out the order to Wanda and she’s off. 

“I suppose. I didn’t think it right to listen in. I know how Alex gets with talking about that kind of thing.” She trails off lost in her own thoughts now. Clint knows it’s one of the things they tend to fight about, she wants him to talk about it and tell her everything, Alex just wants to forget most of it. 

“Thanks for the info.” He says. 

“No problem. But since when do you need to know about your marks? I thought you preferred knowing less about them.” Replies Lorna. She’s right. Normally he prefers knowing as little as possible, makes them less of people and more of targets. That’s something he learned as a kid and kept with him as a sniper. 

“I do. It’s just a special circumstance.” Clint truthfully states. He can’t stand that this guy’s wallet has eluded his grasp twice now and broken his success streak in the process. Damn him. Hot bar guy is tapping his foot and watching Wanda as she makes his coffee. Wanda is usually pretty quick, not as fast as her brother but her drinks always taste that little bit better, which means his window to strike will be coming up soon. He’s pretty sure Lorna will forgive him for going after this particular mark inside the shop. 

“If you say so. You know you look more like you want to jump him then steal from him.” Lorna says and he’s on the receiving end of yet another look. Clint’s not sure that she’s entirely wrong but he isn’t about to admit that aloud. A moment passes and then she says, “I really do need to get back to work, the books aren’t going to balance themselves, so you have fun in your staring at hot bar guy.” This time when she gets up she promptly walks off. Towards the back room for some bookkeeping he’s assuming. 

Wanda hands hot bar guy--he really out to come up with something else to call the guy--his drink with a smile. Clint takes that as his cue. This time around he is going with one of his favorite routines, the ‘oops, I’m so clumsy’ one. He picks up his coffee and walks toward where he knows hot bar guy will be headed, the exit. Timing is everything, he’s got to make it look accidental while giving himself access to the guy’s wallet. Head down, Clint walks forward and braces for impact in three, two--

“Ouch.” Says hot bar guy, in his rather nice voice as Clint has successfully bumped into him and spilled their collective coffee all over the both of them. Clint’s own coffee was little more than lukewarm but hot bar guy’s had been very very hot. On the brightside for hot bar guy, his all black ensemble doesn’t show a thing, unlike Clint’s white t-shirt and pale blue jeans. The things he does to in the name of regaining his honor. 

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” Clint loudly exclaims. Hot bar guy doesn’t seem like the type to want to attract much attention and he isn’t above using that to his advantage. By drawing the attention to them it’ll distract hot bar guy that much more when he goes for his wallet. 

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” Hot bar guy says. Clint’s surprised to find that he really doesn’t sound all that angry. If anything the guy seems more mournful for the loss of his coffee than pissed off about how he lost it. Still, Clint keeps up the overly concerned act and fawns over hot bar guy. 

“Seriously, I’m such a klutz. I’m so sorry.” Babbles Clint. He’s keeping up a litany of ‘I’m sorry’s’ going as he flutters his hands over hot bar guy. Clint’s close to being able to sneak a hand into the guy’s back pocket without him ever noticing--too distracted by being the center of everyone’s attention including Clint’s. Though he’s sure Lorna is rolling her eyes somewhere in the background at his antics.

“It’s fine. Really.” He emphatically states and then he grabs ahold of Clint’s hovering hands. Clint knows the guy is doing it to steady him, reassure him that he’s fine, and get him the hell off him already, but what he’s really done is foiled Clint’s third attempt before it really got the chance yo start. The icing on the cake is when hot bar guy then asks, “Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?”

Not knowing what else to do, Clint settles on playing the deaf card. It’s gotten him out of worse situations before, and while he might have his hearing aids in and they might be fully operational right now it isn’t like hot bar guy knows that. He continues apologizing but then points to his hearing aids and starts to sign as well. Just in case the guy knows some ASL, Clint signs out that the batteries on his hearing aids have died and he isn’t any good at lipreading--which is a total lie. Between the signing and the constant apologizing he figures he’s being convincing enough. Hot bar guy certainly looks startled and more than just a little confused. Clint uses that to get away. Still mumbling apologies he rushes out of House of M, mentally kicking himself the entire way. Though he does manage to hear hot bar guy ask himself, “What the hell was that?” before he’s out of range. Well that makes strike three and Lorna is never ever going to let him live this down. Looks like it’s time to get serious. No more relying on chance and coincidental meetings. He will get hot bar guy’s wallet one way or another. It’s on now.


	4. The "Let Me Help You" Method

Today was the glorious day when victory would finally be his. Clint would at long last claim hot bar guy’s wallet. It was written in the stars. Or something like that. Kate said he had finally gone off the deep end, but what did she know? This may or may not be one of his more ingenious and elaborate plans, which may or may not have required far more effort and strategic planning than he wanted to admit. Time wasn’t exactly on his side though. Pizza night was coming up and that meant interacting with Steve for the first time since that whole Hellfire Club fiasco. Sure, he could play it off as not knowing what Steve was talking about but he doubted even Thor would buy that claim. The guy was sweet and the best bodyguard/backup in a fight that anyone could ask for, but he always wanted to believe the best in people and had a serious weak spot in his lie detecting skills. The guy’s brother was a total snake so Clint still isn’t sure how Thor ended up being so damn trusting but that’s besides the point. He is determined with a capital D to reclaim his honor before then. Thus why he’s currently perched on some unsuspecting person’s second floor apartment balcony that he knows hot bar guy will have to walk past in order to go to House of M. The turkey baster is locked and loaded in his hand and his target would soon be within range.

It is a trick he had learned as a kid, between him and Barney and the circus there had never been a shortage of pranks happening. One in particular, involved making fake bird poop-out of whip cream and black pepper, an uncomplicated but effective recipe-and dropping it onto unknowing victims as they happened to pass below. It served a dual purpose of being hilarious to watch and creating a diversion that gave a person ample opportunity to lift valuables off the pooped upon mark. Basically the thief in question could either quickly use the initial splat as distraction enough to steal something simple with easy access, like say a watch, or they could try to ‘help’ the person out which gave them more and longer connection to the mark. He’d always been rather preferential to ‘helping’ out his mark. It was more fun to play the good Samaritan and it gave better access, what wasn’t to like? 

Clint’s elbows are resting on the wrought iron railing, which he is almost certain hasn’t been cleaned by the tenant since they rented the place, when he spots him. Hot bar looks particularly tense today, making Clint almost feel bad for what he was about to do to the guy. Key word being almost. The guy’s tenseness might just work out in his favor though. Placing the turkey baster just over the edge of the really very dirty railing he poises himself for the attack. Hot bar guy is just about in place. Just another couple of steps. And... There. Clint squeezes the baster and out plops his whip cream and black pepper mixture right on top of hot bar guy’s head. He really does have impeccable aim. Now he just needs to get down. ASAP. At least there is a conveniently located flower bed just below the balcony. He survives the drop from the balcony to the flowerbed, the pink and yellow petunias, however, are not so fortunate. But he doesn’t have time to mourn them, he’s got a mark to ‘assist’.

“Scuse me can I have this?” Clint asks as he grabs a few napkins from a random passerby with some steadily melting ice cream. She really should just hurry up and eat it already. 

“Sure...?” The girl replies, looking confused to all hell. Of course, it probably wasn’t very polite of Clint to pretty much steal them while asking rather than waiting for a response but he’s got to catch up to hot bar guy. The very disgruntled looking hot bar guy who is stalking further and further away by the second. 

“Great, thanks!” Clint replies and once more rushes off to close the distance between him and his impending target. The guy really does look annoyed and rather frustrated, but also a bit resigned? Looks like hot bar guy isn’t having a great day. It makes Clint pause for a moment. He considers not trying to steal from hot bar guy today but then decides better of it. After all his honor is at stake! People have killed for less. People have been killed for less.

“Hey.” Clint says as he pops in front of hot bar guy to keep him from walking off. They share an incredibly awkward moment of staring at each other and Clint can’t help but think of how insane it is that the guy looks adorable covered in bird poop-albeit fake bird poop but still. A few more seconds of staring pass before he realizes he should probably start speaking before hot bar guy rushes off. “I saw what happened-”

“Of course you did.” States hot bar guy and he shakes his head. He looks all kinds of fed up. Poor guy. Still Clint needs to be able to get his hands on him. Purely for wallet stealing purposes and nothing else. He needs a better brain filter. Tony’s been getting into bio-hacking maybe he can him to help out. 

“Uh, napkin?” Asks Clint as he holds up his pilfered napkins. He doesn’t quite shove them into hot bar guys face. 

“Thanks.” Says hot bar guy taking the offered napkins and dabbing at his goo covered hair. So far so good. Clint just needs to distract the guy a little more, get a little closer, and then victory should be his.

“Anytime.” Clint shuffles just the littlest bit closer as he says this. Hot bar guy’s back pocket is almost in reach.

“Today is just not my day.” Hot bar guy huffs while throwing a chagrined smile Clint’s way. And that look is going a long way towards sidetracking Clint. Damn it. He’s supposed to be the one distracting the mark, not the other way around. Focus. He just needs to focus. Deep breaths. In and out. Or something. 

“Why not?” Clint can’t help himself from asking. 

“It’s just been a shitty day.” The guy says. Clint isn’t sure if the guy was making a pun on purpose or not but he finds it kind of hilarious, even if he is the one who just shit on the guy. Or squeezed out some fake poop on? Yeah, he definitely needs to hit Tony up on the brain filter thing. It could be a total game changer. 

“Literally.” States Clint, he’s being as deadpan as he can but he still can’t help the smile that’s cracking through his solemn facade. 

“Yeah.” Says hot bar guy while he lets out a tiny self deprecating laugh. He’s still dabbing away at his hair and Clint isn’t sure is he’s really made it any better or just succeeded in smearing it around more.

“Well maybe your luck will turn around. I hear birds pooping on you is supposed to be lucky.” Clint replies. It’s true too, he heard it a lot back in his carnie days. Mostly from the tightrope walkers and trapeze artists. Maybe it had something to do with being up in the air so often. Pretty much anything you heard from a carnie was to taken with a grain of salt anyway. 

“How is this lucky?” Hot bar guy asks while gesturing to his mess of dark brown hair which still looked surprisingly soft. Clint was pushing back the desire to touch it. 

“Don’t ask me, it’s just what the tightrope walkers used to say. Course I always figured their brains were a bit oxygen deprived from being up in the air all time, so who knows?” Replies Clint. The tightrope walkers were always a bit peculiar. Kind of uncanny. He’s pretty sure the same could be said of any of them though. They were all a bit odd. Guess it was part of the territory or being in a circus.

“Right. The tightrope walkers.” Hot bar guy parrots back to him. Clint knows the guy thinks he’s joking or crazy or a bit of both. He wouldn’t be entirely wrong. 

“The fortune tellers always gave better advice.” Clint says. Now he’s just messing with the guy. The fortune teller’s generally gave insanely generic and vague guidance, on the other hand, they did know a lot about reading people. They were always the best ones at spotting an easy and fruitful mark. Still the best advice usually came from the animal tamers. 

“I’m sure they did. I’d just as soon stick with fortune cookies.” Says hot bar guy. Which gets Clint thinking of yummy take out which leads to mediocre cookies with fortunes which leads to the ‘in bed’ game. And now Clint’s thinking about hot bar guy in bed when he should be thinking about getting into the guy’s pants right now. To regain his honor. To get the damn wallet. Brain filters really need to be a thing. Tony and him could be making bank. 

“Uh, you missed some. Here let me.” Offers Clint as he takes a mostly clean napkin from hot bar guy's hand and then starts dabbing at his hair. His very soft and touchable hair. Also his fake bird poop doesn’t exactly smell like bird poop. He’ll have to remedy that somehow next time. Not that there’s likely to be a next time anytime soon. Though he hasn’t shown this trick to Kate yet so it could be a good teaching opportunity. 

“Thanks, you look familiar.” Hot bar guy says. Shit. That isn’t good. And now he’s peering inquisitively at him with those pretty brown eyes of his. Great. This looks bad. And just when he had his left hand creeping towards the guy’s back pocket. His right hand was still swiping away at hot bar guy’s hair, which was now almost entirely free of the fake bird poop concoction. 

“I just have one of those faces.” Clint just brushes off the guy’s statement and hopes he’ll let it drop at that. Of course he’s never been the particularly lucky type. 

“I somehow doubt that... Aren’t you that guy from the coffee shop the other day? And the one that grabbed my ass at the bar?” Asks hot bar guy and it’s like a light went on and the guy’s face suddenly brightens as he’s figured it out. Well, at least he didn’t call Clint the guy that he kept catching trying to steal from him. So there was that.

“I was very drunk?” Replies Clint. He can’t keep the question out his voice as it most assuredly inflects upwards at the end. Way to seem sure of himself.

“Who you trying to convince?” Hot bar guy asks. 

“You?” Says Clint, damn inflection still present. 

“Right. You seem real sure.” Says hot bar guy. Who is now smirking at him. Clint can’t help but think that the guy pulls off a smirk very very well and that it’s time to make one last quick attempt at the wallet and then get very very far from hot bar guy.

“Uh, well I think that’s it. So I should just be skedaddling now. Bye bye.” Clint babbles as he wipes one last time through the guy’s hair. He turns and starts to brush past hot bar guy, making sure to physically push against him just a little as he reaches into the guy’s back pocket. But of course it couldn’t end that easily.

“Wait a sec.” Hot bar guy says as he turns with Clint and catches a hold of his arm. This seems to be becoming a trend between them one Clint is really not very fond of. All he wants is hot bar guy’s wallet, is that really too much to ask for?

“Can’t. Just realized I’m late. I’m late for a very important date.” Clint says as he starts pulling away. Hot bar guy really does have quite the grip and Clint is definitely not thinking about that strong grip in totally different contexts. Not at all. Right. Flee time.

“Did you just quote the white rabbit?” Asks hot bar guy looking just a tad bewildered. Perhaps Clint did but what of it? Lucky likes story time with his pizza. Also Lucky is strangely opposed to watching dog cops with him. One day Clint will succeed in indoctrinating him. 

“Maybe...?” Replies Clint. Hello again inflection and goodbye hot bar guy and your most tempting wallet. Time to be off. “Bye now.” Clint’s fingers lightly sweep over hot bar guy’s back pocket but he doesn’t have time to get any kind of proper grasp on the guy’s wallet. So he flees but not before hearing hot bar guy mutter something about ‘following the white rabbit’ and did he really just quote the Matrix in response to Clint quoting Alice in Wonderland? That was slightly adorable and he wasn’t sure if he wanted the guy to pick the red pill or the blue. Though the way they kept meeting was starting to give him a sense of deja vu, there must be a glitch. Red pill or blue pill, glitch or no glitch, it was time to get back home and formulate another plan. One he could enact before pizza night. Time to figure out some impossible things to do before breakfast--or more accurately before Thursday night.


	5. The Pressure Distraction Method

Today was the day. Or night really. Maybe evening would be more accurate a term? Either way, nothing was going to stop him. No arm grabbing or Steves would get in his way. He would claim hot bar guy’s wallet-and his honor and dignity-as his own once and for all. It was Tuesday which meant he was running out of time and though it may be gray it was not going to break his heart or give him a heart attack a la The Cure. Nope, it was just giving him that extra push not to fuck up. Clint was yet again back at the Hellfire Club, the only place besides the House of M that he knows hot bar guy frequents. Instead of his usual booth in the back he opts to situate himself directly at the bar, near where he’s seen hot bar guy sit before, and waits. He orders a beer from the conveniently located bar tender who is most certainly not whatshername. Maybe there is a god, he’d rather not have her flirting with him while he tries to chat up and distract hot bar guy into letting him steal his wallet. Hot bar guy doesn’t leave him waiting for long.

“You again.” Says hot bar guy as he slinks up to the right of Clint. As per usual hot bar guy looks unfairly attractive. Scuffed up combat boots, unfairly tight black jeans, dark gray t-shirt, and sleek black leather jacket all present and accounted for. He looks lighter tonight though, not so wound up or anxious, a bit more like how he looked when he was with Steve. Maybe he’s just reading into something that isn’t there. 

“Me again. We’ve got to stop meeting like this.” Replies Clint, smiling and shaking his head. Not that he really minds them meeting like this, especially since he did sort of plan on both this meeting and the last one. He’s a bit sad that after tonight, after he finally gets hot bar guy’s wallet, the guy probably isn’t going to want anything to do with him. There’s a reason he doesn’t like knowing things about his marks. He really does like it better when they are just miscellaneous targets rather than real life people. 

“So are we the plot of shitty made for tv rom-com or did you like my ass so much you had to stalk it?” Hot bar guy asks but it lacks any real bite. If anything Clint would almost call the guy’s tone flirty but that would be absolutely crazy. Maybe he needs to get his head checked out by Bruce. The guy may specialize in love potions and snake oil now but he used to be a pretty good doc. 

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive, but your ass does seem to have it’s own gravitational pull on my hands.” Clint can’t believe those words actually escaped from his mouth. Or rather he can but usually his brain to mouth filter functions at least nominally better when he’s chatting up people he doesn’t really know. He sips away at his beer and prays that his filter will hold a little better the rest of the night. 

“I’m not sure if I should be flattered by that, insulted, or filing a restraining order.” Replies hot bar guy, but he’s got a smirk on his face and his brown eyes are smiling so Clint’s going to take that as a good sign. Also a restraining order would be really really bad for him right now. Him and the law are not exactly on speaking terms. Him and the law sort of had a falling out semi-recently. Especially since him and the law used to date until he thought he killed the law. Turns out he didn’t kill the law but he hasn’t seen or heard anything about Phil since. 

“The first one. Definitely.” Says Clint. Because the guy’s ass is rather wonderful, he’s got first hand experience of that. 

“That so?” Asks hot bar guy. Like he isn’t fully aware that over half the people in this bar would be more than happy to jump his bones given the slightest indication that they could. Some people. 

“Yep.” Clint says popping the ‘p’. Hot bar guy waves the bartender over and orders some strange drink that has some crazy potent russian vodka in it. Clint would know, it’s the same stuff Nat drinks when she’s feeling nostalgic. It also usually leads to a very blurred recollection of the night the next day. 

“And here I was leaning towards the restraining order.” Replies hot bar guy. Clint isn’t sure if he wants to know the guy’s actual name or not. On the one hand it would be nice to have something besides hot bar guy to call the guy, on the other hand he’s already gotten way too close to the guy considering he’s a mark. A mark who is also Steve’s friend. Somehow he doesn’t think this going to work out well no matter how it goes down. He is irrevocably screwed but damned if he isn’t going to steal this guy’s wallet. Maybe he’ll just give it back afterward. Say he found it. Or something like that. It seems plausible enough.

“Well that’s a shame. Though really I was here first this time.” Says Clint. He was only there first to make sure he wouldn’t miss hot bar guy showing up but it’s not like he needed to disclose that particular detail.

“You come here often?” Hot bar guy asks as he takes a swig of the weird drink with the russian vodka from hell that the bartender just finished making. Clint can’t quite believe that hot bar guy really just said that. To his credit it looks like hot bar guy can’t believe that he just said that either. If he didn’t know any better Clint would almost say that hot bar guy was blushing and wasn’t that just the most adorable thing ever. Why was he going after this guy’s wallet again? To set his record back on track, reclaim his success rate, and for the sake of his honor. So why did all those reasons seem so hollow to him now? It doesn’t matter, he will get that wallet. He has to.

“Is that the best line you’ve got?” Retorts Clint. If hot bar guy is going to flirt with him then he’s going to be nothing if not accommodating. 

“Not by a long shot.” Hot bar guy fires back. And shit. Why does hot bar guy have to be so damn perfect? He’s all sexy and hot and got that rebel without a cause thing going but then he makes references to the Matrix and uses cliche as shit pick up lines without even meaning to. Plus he’s been weirdly okay with Clint’s hand inevitably ending up in the vicinity of his ass every time they are together. True he’s really only trying to steal his wallet but he isn’t entirely sure that hot bar guy has caught on to that yet. And if he has then... well, Clint isn’t sure what to make of that. 

“I’ve always preferred the long shots.” Says Clint. He was a sniper and now his hobby is archery, so the loving long shots thing is kind of a given. Plus he’s always been the sort to root for the underdog even when given the longest odds. 

“I’ve always been one for a challenge myself.” Replies hot bar guy. Clint is damn near certain that they are in flirting territory now. Especially with the look he’s getting from hot bar guy. He’s a little surprised he hasn’t already caught fire or spontaneously combusted. 

“Is that so?” Clint asks. Two can play this game. Besides the more the guy lets his guard down the easier it will be to nick his wallet without being caught. It’s sound reasoning.

“Yeah. You know I feel like I should probably know your name, just in case I do end up needing to file that restraining order.” Says hot bar guy. He’s still giving Clint what Kate calls the ‘come hither’ eyes and he’s got a smirk that would make an elephant go weak at the knees. But he wants to exchange names. Which could end very badly and is yet another line crossed that Clint will go to almost any lengths to avoid when it comes to a mark. Well shit. Now what is he supposed to do?

“What you don’t think ‘guy that likes grabbing my fine ass’ would be sufficient enough?” Jokes Clint. He doubts the joke will really throw the guy from asking again but it’s worth a shot. He does like those long odds after all.

“Somehow I don’t think it would. I could just picture it now, ‘hey officer I’d like to file a restraining order against this cute blond guy that keeps grabbing my ass and likes to pretend like he’s the white rabbit’ I’m sure that would go down great.” Replies hot bar guy with a low rumbling laugh. A very nice low rumbling laugh. Clint can’t deny that it would be rather satisfying to have something to call hot bar guy besides hot bar guy. Also did hot bar guy just call him cute?

“So you think I’m cute, huh?” Clint asks. This is steadily veering into the land of no return but Clint can’t seem to help himself. Damn it, forget about the brain filter he needs a damn mental control thingy. Make him logical like a Vulcan or something. Tony should totally make something like that expect it sounds sort of awful. 

“No, I’m just miserably failing at flirting with you for my health.” Hot bar guy says as he ducks his head down and takes another swig of his drink. Isn’t that adorable? He thinks he’s been failing at flirting, Clint is pretty sure he wrote the book on how to fail at flirting. Clint is also certain that he could now write the book on how to never ever interact with a mark that you have every intention on pick-pocketing. This isn’t one of Nat’s long cons, there’s really no reason for him to be sitting here and flirting with hot bar guy. He just can’t seem to help himself. Impulse control thy name is not Clint. 

“If it’s any consolation, I’ve been calling you hot bar guy in my head.” States Clint. It’s true but he really didn’t need to tell hot bar guy that. Oops? Right. Time to pretty much chug down his micro brew beer in embarrassment. 

“That so?” Asks hot bar guy but his eyes are staring at Clint’s throat. And isn’t that an interesting tid bit of information?

“Yep.” Clint says with a pop of the ‘p’. The cat's already out of the bag so he may as well own up to it. 

“The name’s James.” Hot bar guy finally says. Or rather James finally says. And shit Clint really didn’t want to know that. Okay, he kind of really wanted to know that but would have much preferred not to. Why was this mark so much more difficult and so different than all the rest? Damn it. He was starting to sound like a sap from one of Sam’s crappy hallmark flicks. That was very much or the not good variety. 

“Like Bond?”Asks Clint. A joke. He can totally pull off a joke. 

“Pretty sure that beyond the first name and a love of guns and explosions we don’t have much in common. Besides my friends call me Bucky.” Replies hot bar-James not Bond-Bucky. He also places an odd emphasis on the word friend. Clint is starting to get a bit sick at how attractive the guy is. He is hotter than hell, and funny, and liked guns and explosions, and seemed to like Clint for some inexplicable reason. Clint was so far past screwed that it wasn’t even funny anymore. Which means it’s pressure distraction time before he totally fucks this up. 

“Ah, that’s too bad, I’ve always wanted to date a spy.” Says Clint and he places his hand on Bucky’s arm and squeezes. The basic idea of a pressure distraction is to apply pressure to another part of a person’s body, like the arm, to distract them away from the theft of their wallet. Ideally they pay attention to the hand grasping their arm and they don’t notice the other hand that’s reaching into their pocket and grabbing a hold of their wallet. But when have things ever gone according to plan when it’s come to stealing from Bucky? Clint really should have just stuck to calling him hot bar guy. 

“Isn’t it customary to let someone know your name before you ask them to go steady?” Asks Bucky as he grabs Clint’s left hand-the one that had been going for his wallet-in his own. Clint hadn’t noticed before but he’s got a glove on his left hand. Leather to match the jacket but it still seems a bit unusual, it isn’t really the season for gloves. Still eccentricities of his target aside, he’s been foiled yet again. 

“Did you really just use the term go steady unironically in a sentence?” Questions Clint. He’s pretty sure not even his long dead grandparents would’ve used that term. 

“Technically it was in a question. One you still haven’t answered.” Replies Bucky. Yep, the name thing was definitely going to make things more difficult. Still he had to give it another shot. 

“Clint.” Mumbles Clint pulling his hand out of Bucky’s grasp and scratching the back of his head. At least he’s reclaimed his left hand, now he’s just got to try sneaking it into the guy’s back pocket again. 

“What was that?” Bucky asks leaning closer to him. Personal space thy name is gone. Not that Clint has any kind of problem with that. It also means that Bucky’s wallet is in closer reach. 

“My name is Clint.” Says Clint. His creeps his hand down and into Bucky’s back pocket slowly. 

“Well Clint it’s nice to meet you. Yet again. Now at least I can call you something other than the cute blonde guy with the wandering hands.” Bucky replies and pointedly grabs ahold of his left hand just as it had grasped Bucky’s wallet. He just couldn’t win for losing. 

“I can’t help it, they have a mind all their own.” Clint replies and tosses Bucky a wink as he grabs his ass. May as well play off the-what was this the fifth failed attempt already?-as his wandering hands. This was just getting to be pathetic already. 

“That so?” Asks Bucky. This time pulling Clint’s left hand out of his pocket but not letting it go. Seems that tonight just isn’t going to go in his favor. Clint isn’t about to let that stop him though. 

“Yep, the doctor’s tell me there’s no cure.” Says Clint trying to look and sound as mournful as he can. Tonight might be a bust on the pick-pocketing front but it doesn’t have to be a bust all around. Besides there was still a chance that he could get to Bucky’s wallet tonight without him noticing. Perhaps not a very good one but it existed nevertheless. 

“Ah, that sounds terrible. However do you cope?” Bucky asks him. He’s still got a grip on Clint’s hand, holding it tightly in his own leather clad one. 

“It’s tough but I make do.” Answers Clint with a solemn nod.

“I’m sure you do.” Says Bucky who has yet to let go of his hand. His hand that he desperately needs if he’s going to make another attempt. Clint looks past Bucky and notices a familiar face entering the bar. A terrifyingly familiar face that he hadn’t thought he’d be seeing again for another couple of days. Shit. Steve. Steve should really not be here right now. Steve should really not know that Clint had been trying to steal from his friend but keeps on failing and just ends up grabbing said friend’s ass instead. Guess that means it’s time for him to pack it in and call it a night. 

“I’ve just remembered I’ve got something I need to do.” Clint says. He’s reluctant in pulling his hand out of Bucky’s grasp but he’s really got to go. Before Steve gets any closer to them and realizes who it that’s been flirting with his friend. 

“Late for a very important date again? I wouldn’t want the queen to dispatch with your head.” Bucky replies. He looks a bit let down, his eyes aren’t shining like they were before and Clint feels guilty for more reasons than he even wants to consider analyzing. 

“Something like that. Sorry, I’ve just really got to jet.” Says Clint. He pulls a twenty out of his wallet and leaves it on the bar and then just looks at Bucky. They’re having another one of those moments where they simply stare at each other. Clint looks away and notices that Steve is getting precariously close to them. 

“Go paint the roses, I’m sure we’ll run into each other again.” Says Bucky but he doesn’t sound as happy and light as he has the rest of the night. It makes Clint ache a little to hear that. It also means he’s even more screwed than he ever thought he could be by a mark. Isn’t that just peachy? Steve’s getting too close to do much pondering on that though. 

“Right. Bye.” Replies Clint. He gives Bucky one last look before taking off into the crowd. Weaving a zig zag around Steve isn’t exactly easy but Clint’s pretty sure he manages to get past him without being spotted. Yay, for small mercies. Clint had one more day before pizza night, which means he still had another shot at Bucky. And his wallet. Maybe this time things would go according to plan. Yeah. Right. Even he isn’t buying that.


	6. The Sex Appeal Method

Shit. What was the next best plan of attack? All of the basic strategies had failed him. If the bird poop method and chatting up hot bar guy, Bucky, hadn’t worked then what the hell would? Clint takes a sip of his eleventh cup of coffee of the day and sighs. Anxiously drinking coffee in his apartment wasn’t going to get him anywhere besides the bathroom. The people that said you don’t buy coffee you just rent it are entirely too accurate, especially when in mass consumption. He shakes out his head and tries to get himself back on track. What was his next play? It didn’t help that this attempt would be the last shot he’d get before pizza Thursday. That settles it, it was time for the hail Mary pass. Sex appeal time. 

“Okay, Lucky, let’s do this. I mean Nat does it all the time so hard can it be?” Clint asks Lucky who is lounging on the couch. All he gets in response is a little huff. What a ringing endorsement. “Gee, thanks for all the encouragement buddy, see if I bring you back any pizza from Tony’s tomorrow.” That gets him a bit more of a response in the form of a pitiful sounding whine. Like he’d ever not bring Lucky back pizza. He drinks the last dregs of his coffee and sets the cup down with an ominous clank. Time to get ready for the night that will seal his fate as a pick-pocket once and for all. Not that he’d give it up if he failed, he just might have to avoid pizza night and all of his so called friends for a bit. Clint snakes past Lucky giving the dog a quick pat on the head on his way to his mess of a bedroom. At least he’d always have Lucky.

Primping was really not his strong suit. He thinks about calling Nat for about half a second before he thinks better of it. He is on his own with this one. Yipee. Kate bought him some new jeans for his last birthday-something about trying to improve his hopeless fashion sense-so he throws those on. On the plus side they are timelessly black and don’t have any holes or stains on them. They are also way tighter than virtually any other pair of pants he’s owned since leaving the circus. He isn’t sure if that’s a pro or a con but Kate said they framed his ass nicely, which was a bit disturbing coming from his young protege. Still he’ll take any kind of advantage he can get. For the shirt he wears some black muscle t thing with a purple chevron on it that Nat always tells him makes his arms look nice. He doesn’t even attempt to bother with his hair beyond a quick run through with his fingers. Next are the only clean pair of socks he can find and some boots, classic black combat boots. It’s time for him to blow this joint. Clint shouts a swift “See ya later.” to Lucky and is out the door and off to Hellfire Club before he loses his nerve. Or thinks any further on what a stupendously bad idea him trying to use sex appeal to get away with stealing Bucky’s wallet really is. 

It’s a cool night, enough so that most the people on the street have got at least one extra layer on him. He almost wishes he would’ve brought a jacket of his own. However, then it would’ve been a leather one and Bucky would undoubtedly be wearing his leather jacket and that would be too much leather jacket going on between the two of them. It’s not like they were starting a biker gang. The walk over to the bar while a little chilly is uneventful and he arrives there in no time. That might in part be due to the fact that he was speed walking most of the way but still. Time to get back his honor and get this terrible idea over with. 

The club seems oddly busy for a Wednesday night, or maybe he’s just noticing all the people as a side effect of his nerves eating away at the lining of his stomach. It’s not a particularly pleasant feeling. Of course that’s when Clint spots him at the bar and that not particularly pleasant feeling is dialed up to eleven. Why did he think this was a good idea again? Right, he’s just that desperate. Clint takes a couple deep breaths that do absolutely nothing to calm him down. Fuck it. He figures it’s now or never so he weaves through the crowd until he’s standing nervously just behind his target. Who of course then turns around, drink that will undoubtedly have weird Russian vodka in it in hand and spots him. Bucky’s eyes light up at the sight of him and any preconceived notion of a seduction plan that Clint had formulated before goes dive bombing out the window like a flock of kamikaze carrier pigeons. 

“We just can’t seem to stop running into each other.” Says Bucky, a smile gracing his lips. Brilliant brown eyes wander appreciatively over Clint from head to toe. So maybe his fashion sense isn’t as terrible as Kate thinks it is. Clint gives the guy a once, okay maybe twice, over in return. Black shoes, black jeans, a black t-shirt and oh look, more black in the form of that leather jacket. Again. This guy needed to add a little variety to his wardrobe. Considering all the flak Clint gets from his friends for his own limited clothing color palette that’s saying something. 

“Is that supposed to be a step up or a step down from asking if I come here often?” Asks Clint stepping up to the bar and getting that much closer to tonight’s target. Flirting. Right. He can do that. Sort of. Tony always calls his attempts at flirting either adorable or juvenile, but that’s Tony. Tony who can talk pretty much anyone into bed with him. Clint is so fucked. And not even remotely in the good way. 

“I take it you’ve got some better lines?” Bucky counters leaning closer to him. Based off what Nat says about body language that’s a good thing. Based off his own body’s vital responses Clint isn’t so sure. 

“Maybe one or two.” Clint says with a tilt of his head. Then he processes the words that his filter lacking mouth just said and internally panics. His pick up lines are bad. All kinds of bad. Mostly they are either insanely cheesy or dirtier than Bed Stuy’s sewer system, and their ain’t much that’s dirtier than that. Clint’s praying to whatever gods are out there that Bucky doesn’t ask for an example. 

“Let’s hear it then.” Says Bucky. Yep. He’s so far beyond fucked that he’s practically circled back around into virginal territory. Still if it’s a pick up line the guy wants then it’s a pick up line he’ll get. 

“If I were to ask you out on a date would the answer be the same as the answer to this question?” Asks Clint. It’s the first decently innocent one that pops into his head. It’s also one he’s always thought was rather clever. Not that it’s ever worked on anyone he wasn’t already seeing and even then they mostly just shook their heads and called him adorable. Not exactly what he was going for. 

“There really isn’t any way to answer that isn’t an affirmative, is there?” Bucky asks. He’s smiling though so Clint will take that as a good sign. At least he didn’t use one of his arrow quips. Like ‘it’s not the size of bow that counts it’s the number of arrows’, not that the size of his bow was anything to scoff at. And that was most definitely not the kind of thing he should be focusing on right now. Besides he was just trying to get the guy far enough under his thrall that he could nick his wallet unnoticed. That’s all. Easy peasy, pumpkin pie. Not that pumpkin pie was particularly easy to make. 

“Why would you want to say no?” Clint replies and he’s pretty sure he’s unconsciously been giving the guy bedroom eyes. Great. Well it’s not like it’ll hurt his seduction routine any. 

“Hmm...” Hums Bucky. Who then proceeds to give him another once over, eyes very very slowly tracing over him and Clint is pretty sure he’s never felt this naked while wearing clothes before. So that’s new. After a drawn out and rather hot and heavy staring session Bucky looks back into his eyes and says, “What else ya got?” Clint has never been one to back down from a challenge.

“Is that a mirror in your pocket? Cause I can see myself in your pants.” Says Clint with a leer as he exaggeratedly looks down at Bucky’s black jeans in emphasis. It might not be one of his best lines but he figured it was weirdly appropriate considering the amount of times Bucky had caught Clint with his hands in Bucky’s pants already. Which might be a terrible way of phrasing it but it was true in the most literal sense. It also had the additional side effect of making Bucky laugh that nice rumbling laugh of his which Clint was more than okay with. Laughter was it’s own form of seduction, right?

“Pretty sure your hands are already well acquainted with being in my pants.” States Bucky as he gives a suggestive glance down to Clint’s hands. Thing is that the way he says it Clint’s not entirely sure that Bucky hasn’t known about him trying to steal his wallet this whole time. At this point that would be almost less shocking than him not knowing. 

“I suppose they are.” Replies Clint. Danger. Danger Will Robinson. He was traversing in some dangers seas. If he had any hope in hell of pulling this off he needed to go in for the kill. Now. So he did the only thing that he could think of. Tugging Bucky in by his waist--hands ready to go to work--Clint kissed him. 

Clint wasn’t an olympic level kisser by any means. Sure he knows the mechanics of it, heads tilt, lips meet, noses can be a bit annoying, that sort of thing but he isn’t any sort of pro. So as with everything else since he’s met Bucky it starts out not so great. Of course the sudden jolt of ‘hey. I’m going to kiss you now out of the blue’ probably wasn’t helping his case any. So when he grabs a hold of Bucky, he sort of stumbles forward into the kiss. Their lips don’t quite match up right and it’s all just a bit off kilter. But then Bucky responds and it’s an entirely different story. It’s still a tad awkward and Clint’s more than a little bit self conscious of the chapped state of his own lips when Bucky’s feel so damn soft. He can taste the weird russian vodka from Bucky’s drink and finds he likes the burning flavor of it a lot better this way. Maybe Bucky will convert him over to the dark side yet. His eyes are closed and he isn’t sure when that happened or when his life became a tragic romantic comedy. Still as nice as this feels they’ve got to stop to breathe soon and Clint still hasn’t gotten his hands on Bucky’s wallet. For a flicker of a second they break apart and their eyes meet. But then Clint is surging forward once more as his hands glide lower down Bucky’s back. The fingertips of his left hand graze the top of Bucky’s wallet. He gives a squeeze with his right hand--for good distracting measure--and at long last succeeds in stealing Bucky’s wallet with him being none the wiser. Once more they break apart, Clint sneaks Bucky’s wallet into his own pocket before too much room separates them. He feels almost bashful, which is a bizarre look on him he’s sure, as he meets Bucky’s mirthful brown eyes and takes in his triumphant smirk on slightly swollen lips. 

Guilt hits him and he feels like he’s been steamrolled by a pack of angry woolly mammoths. Not exactly how he anticipated feeling. He thought he’d feel better. But regaining his honor feels more like losing. And isn’t that just great? He’s just shared one of the better kisses of his life with a mark whose wallet he finally managed to steal, too bad the mark in question seemed to steal something from him in the process. 

He’s not sure how much of his own remorse shows on his face but he’s definitely showcasing some kind of complicated mix of emotions. The weird thing is that even as he can feel his own face falling, Bucky’s got this growing smirk on his face. Clint doesn’t know what to make of that but he’s got to make a getaway and fast, before he sinks any further into the treacherous quicksand of his own regret. Oddly enough Bucky starts talking before he can even begin to mutter out some kind of half assed excuse. 

“Looks like you’ve got to go again, hmmm? But maybe next time you could just try calling me? Not that the stalker like behaviour isn’t it’s own brand of flattering.” Bucky says. His soft lips are twisted into this knowing smirk that just serves to make Clint feel even more tumultuously confused. 

“I, uh-What?” Clint sputters out. If he were an owl his head would be spinning around in circles right now. Right on round like a record. Between the kiss, and his regret, and now this bizarro world levels of confusion he’s suffering from emotional whiplash. The perceptive look on Bucky’s face really isn’t helping any. 

“I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around.” Bucky cryptically states. He then throws him a wink and turns around and simply melts away into the crowd. Clint’s not sure how he manages to disappear so completely so quickly. Also how the hell is he supposed to call someone whose number he most definitely does not have. Unless he fell asleep during that part of the conversation, no digits were exchanged. But he has something even better. He still has Bucky’s wallet. Which probably has a little old thing called a driver’s license. It’ll be a cakewalk to find him. Clint’s emotional turmoil strikes again and he’s filled with a sense of glee, like a little kid at Christmas who knows the present he’s about to open can only be filled with something wonderful. 

Unable to hold himself off any longer Clint digs his spoils for the night out of his pocket. It’s a pretty simple wallet made, ever so surprisingly, out of black leather. This is it. All he has to do is open it up, find out the rest of the guy’s info, and visit him saying he stumbled upon his wallet and wanted to return it. Bam. Solid plan. And it meant Bucky didn’t need to know, or have any suspicions confirmed, on Clint’s less than innocent involvement in procuring his wallet in the first place. It was perfect. Or would’ve been. Clint’s surprised at what he finds in Bucky’s wallet. Or rather the total lack of what he finds. No credit cards. No driver’s license. No form of ID whatsoever. Not even any cash. All he finds is a folded up piece of paper. Clint doesn’t care if curiosity killed the cat, he opens up the note, reads the words scrawled on it and throws his head back and laughs. After all curiosity may have killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back. Or something like that.

 

_Better luck next time._  
_I meant what I said about calling me._  
_917-555-0616_  
_-Bucky_


End file.
